


Boston

by cycnus39



Category: Batman (Comics), Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:38:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cycnus39/pseuds/cycnus39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first time was in Boston...only it wasn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boston

This was a bad idea. Such a terribly bad idea. So why was he still sitting at this secluded table in this deserted, Boston hotel bar on a Friday afternoon listening to Clark’s awkward small talk when there were a hundred other things he should have been doing?

“And so Pa--” Clark finally broke off from another of his seemingly endless tales about the Kent Farm to frown at him concernedly. “Are you sure you don’t want to get something to eat? There’s a--”

“I told you I’m not hungry.” He took another sip of his espresso before finally saying what he should have said an hour ago. “Look, this was a bad idea. It isn’t working. We should just--”

“It’s not working because you’re not giving it a chance,” Clark snapped back with surprising vehemence. “You won’t talk to me. You don’t want to go out to dinner with me. You don’t want to go for a walk along the Esplanade with me. You don’t want to do anything but sit in the darkest corner of this bar drinking coffee and then you wonder why it’s not working?”

“I’m not wondering why it’s not working.”

“You kissed me!”

“I had almost drowned and was obviously not thinking clearly.”

“So why did you kiss me back so enthusiastically the second time and why did you agree to come on this date?”

“For the last time, this isn’t a date and I only came because you wouldn’t let it go.”

“Of course I wouldn’t let it go. We could have something here, Bruce. We could really have something. I can’t go back to the way we were until I find out if we can make it work.”

“And what if we can’t? What if we try to make it work and we ruin everything? What if we can’t go back to what we had before, Clark? What then?”

“That won’t happen.”

“There are no guarantees.”

“Don’t you even want to try? Are you that afraid of failing?”

He looked away from Clark’s intense gaze, watched his right thumb circling the rim of the espresso cup. “What we had before was enough for me. Your friendship was enough for me.”

“What about now? Knowing we both feel more, is it still enough?”

He didn’t answer.

Seconds staggered by.

Clark sighed. “Say something, Bruce, or at least look at me.”

He did neither.

“Fine,” Clark finally said, tone clipped with hurt. “Then tell me I’m wrong. Tell me what we have isn’t worth building upon and I’ll leave here right now and never mention it again.”

He didn’t respond.

Forty-eight seconds later, Clark stood away from the table, moved to walk away and he had to react, had to reach out and catch hold of Clark’s right wrist.

“You’re not wrong,” he said low and Clark’s pulse hammered beneath his fingers. “But I can’t lose you.”

Clark immediately crouched down and reached out to cup the right side of his face. “That will never happen.” Clark’s warm fingers caressed his face, making the words real. “I promise. Not matter what happens, you’ll never lose me.”

It happened in a blur. At first he didn’t know how to react and then, just a heartbeat later, he was kissing Clark, taking Clark’s soft, willing mouth in a deeply penetrative kiss. Then, somehow, Clark was flat on the floor and he was on top of Clark, deepening the kiss while pressing his left thigh against Clark’s erection and rubbing his own hardening erection against Clark’s left hip. Then he remembered where they were. It may have been absolutely deserted but the hotel bar was still a very public place.

“Come on,” he said, reluctantly pulling away and standing up.

Clark just lay gasping on the floor.

“Get up.” He grabbed a handful of Clark’s shirt and tie and hauled Clark to his feet before pulling him across to the elevator in the opposite corner of the bar.

“Get off.” Clark pushed his hand away as they reached the elevator doors. “I’m perfectly capable of walking, flying, or anything else.”

“I thought you’d gone into a catatonic stupor.” He punched the button to call the elevator car. “I hope you’re going to do more than just lie there when we get up to your room.”

Clark scowled at him. “You surprised me. I didn’t expect you to jump me on the bar floor! We’re lucky no one saw.”

“You started it,” he returned irritably, cocked his head to listen for the car. What was taking it so long?

“Me? I just--”

“Exactly.”

“Wait a minute, why are we going to my room? Why not yours?”

“Yours is closer.”

“No, it’s not,” Clark objected, but he wasn’t listening. The elevator car had arrived and as soon as the doors opened, he pushed Clark inside, kissed Clark up against the wall.

This time Clark did react, kissed him back, stroked his face then slipped a hand under his suit jacket to stroke his chest, back, shoulders, and it was good, so good he pressed himself mindlessly against Clark’s hard length and almost forgot to press their floor button. Then, what seemed like just a split second later, there was a high-pitched pinging noise and Clark was shoving him away just as the elevator doors opened to reveal a very elderly, hopefully short-sighted couple waiting for the car.

He stepped politely past the couple and started up the corridor, realised Clark wasn’t with him and turned to see Clark holding the elevator doors open while the old couple took their time tottering inside.

“Good afternoon,” Clark greeted the couple with a warm smile. “How are you today?”

“Oh, fine, fine, young man. Fine,” the old lady replied. “It’s so good to see a well-mannered young man, isn’t it, Frederick? Frederick!” She gave her husband a sharp nudge then shouted, “I said, it’s nice to see a well-mannered young man, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t watch anymore, closed his eyes and faced the wall, felt like banging his head against it when the old lady realised she’d come out without her purse and left Clark standing holding the elevator doors open while she went doddering back into her room to retrieve it.

“Uh, Bruce,” Clark called out to him, voice tinged with more than a little embarrassment, “why don’t you go on without me. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Clark was living in cloud-cuckoo-land if he thought that old lady was going to find her purse in less than a minute never mind get back to the elevator in less than a minute. However, he didn’t comment, didn’t even look at Clark, just walked up the corridor and let himself into Clark’s room with the card he’d taken out of Clark’s coat pocket earlier.

Clark’s room was apparently something called a ‘Luxury Corner King’ and the two sets of windows at right angles to one another as well as the king-sized bed in the centre of the room seemed to support this assertion, but he wasn’t paying that much attention. The room was just a blur of cream, beige and dark wood as he hastily stripped off his clothes then lay on the bed to give his aching erection a few comforting strokes while waiting for Clark.

Two minutes later, there was no sign of Clark.

What was he doing? Flying to Kansas to get a cow to make the old lady a new purse?

Two minutes later again, still nothing.

Then, just as he was getting irritated enough to masturbate himself to climax, get dressed and leave, there was an apologetic knock on the room door.

Before he even opened the door and saw Clark’s flustered face, he knew it was Clark knocking, wasted no time hauling Clark into the room by his tie and then they were kissing and he was rubbing his naked body against Clark’s clothes, against Clark’s skin when Clark was suddenly naked, and it was so good, so perfect. He leaned hungrily into Clark’s embrace, Clark’s touch, couldn’t get enough of the taste of Clark’s mouth, the scent of Clark’s skin, the feel of Clark’s body beneath his hands. He needed more, had to have more, moved his left hand down to Clark’s erection, stroked it once, twice, and Clark moaned into his mouth, kissed him harder, deeper. Then he stroked Clark’s erection again and the damn thing seemed to double in size, become incredibly slick, and not even Clark’s Olympic class kisses could stop him easing away to look down at it.

It was massive.

It was absolutely massive.

It was also drenched in pre-ejaculate, his hand was drenched in pre-ejaculate and was he imagining it or were the nerves in his hand tingling weirdly? Could Clark’s pre-ejaculate-- Human males tended to emit no more than five millilitres of pre-ejaculatory fluid. Clark had easily emitted three times that already and, judging by the trickle of wetness on his hip, was still going strong. And, yes, the skin on his hip was tingling ever so slightly too, so it seemed Kryptonian pre-ejaculate did have some unknown properties. But if Clark’s typical pre-ejaculatory fluid emission was four or five or six times more than a human male’s, how much more semen did he emit? And what unknown properties did that have?

Damn Kryptonian physiology. He clearly should have asked a few more questions before getting himself into this.

“Bruce?” Clark finally gasped after trying and failing to capture his mouth for another round of kissing. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” he said but then pushed away to get a better look at Clark’s erection from a few steps back. The distance didn’t make it look any smaller. In fact, the damn thing looked like it was still growing. It was certainly still emitting pre-ejaculate. He watched a fresh bead meander down Clark’s shaft while the next dripped merrily onto the carpet. “It’s a lot bigger than I had estimated judging by its flaccid size,” he admitted more awkwardly than he cared to acknowledge.

“Um, yes,” Clark returned very, very softly. “It’s always bigger the first time I’m with someone. It’s a mating ritual thing.”

He met Clark’s embarrassed gaze with a disbelieving blink. “Mating ritual?”

“I’m Kryptonian, Bruce,” Clark replied irritably despite his reddening cheeks. “Surely you didn’t expect me to be just like you?”

“No, but I thought you would have told me about any obvious differences when I asked and, Clark, that’s an obvious difference.”

Clark looked down at his massive erection, which was still happily dripping pre-ejaculate. “It will be smaller next time.”

“How much smaller?”

“A little bigger than yours?”

“Will it get that wet next time too?”

“Yes, but that’s a good thing. There’s no need for extra lubrication and it has slight anaesthetic properties.”

His gaze narrowed. “And you didn’t tell me this before because?”

Clark shrugged. “I forgot.”

“You forgot? Since when do you forget?”

“It doesn’t matter, Bruce, okay? It’s very short lasting and limited to the area of contact. It just feels good. You know I’d never hurt you.”

He looked at his left hand. The pre-ejaculate was drying and the nerves had stopped tingling. “Can I get a sample?”

“No! Now do you want to make love or not?”

“Well, anal penetration is definitely out and I won’t get much of that in my mouth so--”

“That’s it.” Clark grabbed him by the arm, started dragging him towards the door. “Get out!”

Instead of pulling away from Clark’s strength, he pushed into it so Clark fell back on the floor. Then, taking advantage of Clark’s surprise, he pinned Clark down on the carpet with all his strength. Unfortunately, Clark’s surprise didn’t last long and Clark took no notice of the power he was exerting, quickly reversed their positions with a few easy muscle flexes and pinned him down so forcefully his breath was knocked from his lungs.

His temper snapped.

He didn’t care that Clark was obviously angry and upset, didn’t care that Clark was a thousand times stronger. At that moment, he just wanted to hurt Clark back because nobody pinned him -- not even Superman.

With ferocious determination, he twisted, kicked, bucked and punched out from under Clark eleven times only to have Clark reclaim him a second later. Then, on the twelfth escape, he not only somehow managed to forget exactly where the bed was positioned in the room, he also managed to whack the right side of his head off one of its cast iron legs hard enough to give himself a mild concussion.

While he blinked dizzily around him, Clark gently examined the sharply throbbing wound on the side of his head.

“It’s bleeding a little,” Clark pronounced. “How do you feel?”

He should have answered but didn’t, couldn’t, wasn’t sure if he could speak around the heart hammering in his throat, not sure he would hear his own voice over the blood pounding in his ears. He was already hot, breathless and trembling with adrenaline from the fight and the sharp pain lancing down the side of his head just pushed him over into violent arousal.

Clark’s mouth was soft and yielding then firm and demanding as he pulled Clark down on top of him, pressed himself up against Clark’s sure strength. His fingers twisted in Clark’s hair, dug into Clark’s ribs as Clark took his mouth in a deeply plundering kiss. However, Clark’s hands just stroked him gently in return as if they had forgotten their power, forgotten how they had held him painfully to the floor just a few minutes ago. Frustrated, he moved Clark’s hands to where he wanted them to be, tried to make them do what he wanted them to do, but they just continued the soothing strokes he didn’t want, didn’t need. His touch on Clark turned rough then desperate as he tried to get what he needed, but Clark didn’t notice, was lost in his own world of deep kisses and soothing caresses.

A heartbeat later, he’d had enough.

When he rolled them over so he was on top of Clark, Clark made an odd mwuffing sound into his mouth but kept up the kissing and stroking. But when he took a firm hold of Clark’s erection, began trying to ease the large, slick head into his body, Clark froze, broke the kisses and started hyperventilating.

“Bruce, I don’t--” Clark gasped, began quivering violently. “I can’t--” Clark’s eyes snapped shut and then Clark jerked under him before abruptly tensing as hard as the cast iron bed frame. It didn’t sink in that Clark was climaxing until hot semen splattered up his back a split second later.

Yes, that was semen on his back.

Clark was ejaculating onto his back.

As Clark’s orgasm continued unabated, he dully realised that there was a lot of semen, an awful lot of semen, but it didn’t tingle like the pre-ejaculate, was just a few degrees hotter. Holding still, he waited for Clark’s orgasm to ebb away, waited for Clark to open his eyes and look at him again, but the orgasm continued at the same intensity and Clark seemed to have forgotten he was there.

Closing his eyes against a bout of sickening dizziness, he pushed off Clark to sit on the floor by Clark’s hip. Clark still didn’t acknowledge him and suddenly all he wanted to do was take a shower. He watched Clark ejaculating for a few more moments then stood up to walk into the bathroom, the semen dribbling down his back mocking him all the way.

The shower was one of those ridiculously complicated ones with three separate control panels as well as various buttons, switches and dials. Not bothering to even look at the current settings, he punched the biggest button and then turned the water on full. It came on too hot, too hard but he didn’t care, just stepped under it, let it beat down on him as he moved to stand with his hands and forehead pressed against the cool, tiled wall.

A moment later, the thrum of the water battering on his back sounded like Clark’s heartbeat and the heat of the water pressing into him, embracing him, felt like Clark’s body heat. He closed his eyes and, in his mind, he could see Clark stepping into the shower behind him, pinning him roughly against the wall, taking him hard and fast, and his right hand began stroking and squeezing his erection in time to Clark’s thrusts inside him and it was so good, too good to last. In just a few seconds, his climax hit and he gasped, opened his eyes to find himself alone in the shower, ejaculating against the wall while the hot water pounding down on him felt like ice.

Punching off the shower disgustedly, he stepped out onto the bathroom floor and quickly dried himself off before walking back into the bedroom.

Clark was sitting on the edge of the bed but didn’t look round at him, just said low, “I’m sorry I couldn’t-- I’m sorry. That’s never happened before, Bruce, I swear.”

He didn’t respond and Clark didn’t say anything else, so he retrieved his clothes, dressed in silence then left.

The corridor was a blur and he took the stairs down to the lobby without thinking, headed blindly out onto the sunny street then across into the Esplanade’s parkland. He had never had any interest in the Esplanade but, since he was already on it, he began walking along under the trees looking out at the river, which was dotted with canoes of all descriptions.

Despite being nearly as polluted as the Gotham River at one point in its history, the Charles River looked nothing like the Gotham. Trees hadn’t grown along the banks of the Gotham for a hundred years and the last fool who went canoeing on the Gotham had to be hospitalised for a week. But, then again, only fools went canoeing for pleasure in the first place. Turning his attention away from the Charles and its slew of canoeists, he noted a sign for the Earth Day Memorial Fountain ahead and was considering veering off in the fountain’s direction when Clark caught up with him.

Instead of speaking, Clark just fell into step beside him and they walked on together in silence under the dappling trees until he turned off towards the fountain and Clark fell a step behind.

“Bruce, I--”

“Don’t,” he interrupted without looking back.

“But that--”

“I’m not discussing it,” he interrupted again, but let Clark fall into step beside him once more and this time Clark stayed silent until they reached the fountain.

“I think we should go out to dinner,” Clark finally said. “We need to settle down together again.”

“I’m already settled,” he replied while studying the bronze statues in the middle of the hexagonal, granite fountain. The centrepiece was quite an impressive depiction of Aquaman rescuing a Bostonian woman and her young child from the floodwater as other sea creatures rose from the waves to help a man and an older child. The strong likeness to Arthur surprised him, made him wonder if the sculptor had met Arthur. But then the smirking dolphin swimming on Arthur’s left suddenly looked kind of familiar too so he decided it was probably just his concussion playing tricks on him.

Clark sighed and he turned to watch Clark sit wearily down on the fountain’s stylised dolphin wall just out of reach of the splashing water.

“So that’s it then?” Clark looked up at him. “You don’t even want to try again?”

“There is no again,” he growled. “We were never here. It never happened.”

“No, of course it didn’t,” Clark returned dryly, turned his gaze in the direction of the Charles. “And I suppose you’re just going to leave now?”

“Within the hour.”

Clark looked up at him again. “Can I at least fly you back to Gotham?”

“If you’re leaving when I am.” He sat down on the wall beside Clark.

Clark didn’t respond but he felt Clark examining him, analysing every inch of him inside and out. It wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed. He took a minute of it while watching a line of ants marching along the side of the footpath and then broke the silence.

“I’m fine, Clark, and even if I wasn’t, you can’t fix everything.”

“No, I can’t, but I have to try, Bruce. I can’t not try.”

He met Clark’s sincere gaze and abruptly wanted to try too. “Fine,” he conceded and then, before he could change his mind, said, “Pick a city.”

Clark blinked. “Are you saying we’re trying it again?”

“No. This will be our first time.”

Clark broke into a sunny grin. “Okay, so where haven’t you been on a date before?”

“It’s not a date.”

“So where haven’t you been on a not-date before?”

“A not-date?”

“It’s a...never mind. How about Seattle?”

“Seattle?”

“Seattle.”

“Why Seattle?”

“Why not Seattle?”

“Fine. Four weeks today in Seattle.”

“Four weeks? Bruce, I don’t think--”

“I’ll be busy until then, Clark.”

“Well so will I.”

“Exactly.”

“Fine,” Clark conceded grumpily and stood up. “Which flavour of ice cream would you like?”

He raised a querying eyebrow and Clark nodded to the south.

“There’s a concession stand through the trees a bit over there. It smells like they have cherry and dark chocolate. Sound good?”

He nodded and stood and they walked off together across the grass.

As Clark started talking about maybe going canoeing in Seattle, he decided meeting Clark again was a bad idea. Such a terribly bad idea.

So why was he looking forward to it?

 

 

End


End file.
